Untitled #27

From the article, “Origins of the Anger Face” by Cari Romm found in The Atlantic.  (Dear god did I get the citation and punctuation right?!)

What the fuck, Charlie?  Are you seriously going to do Nanowrimo and Nablopomo? On top of finishing the missing prompts and writing freelance articles while your mom could possibly be going through chemotherapy, and the annual audit at work?

Fuck no.

Those are my talking points, bitches.

By the way, if you haven’t guessed, cursing in this post!

Health

Really, I should just round up cancer and the IVF and make that a general health related talking/writing point.

Done and done.

So, yes.  Cancer sucks.  We all know this.  I could write more about how it affects us all, but we all know.  We all rally.  It doesn’t make it any less true.  What seriously upsets me is that if you actively ignore that something could be wrong with you and if you ignore the obvious signs then it’s going to affect more than you.  It’s going to affect your entire family.  Now, I understand (or come close to understanding; I don’t have cancer – God/Goddess/Flying Spaghetti Monster willing and the creek don’t rise) but not going on a regular basis to your doctor just blows my mind.

My mom is a doctor.  And she finally has started to visit her doctor on a regular basis – god complex and all.

I’m not talking about my mom.

Well, maybe I am.

Shut up.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that you need to see your doctor on a regular basis. Please.  It’s not just for you, it’s for your family’s sake.  Yes, it’s scary.  Yes, doctors can be assholes.  But…but, if there is something wrong, you need to get it checked out.  Don’t wait it out.  Just fucking go.

Do it anyway.  Suck up your pride and go.

Hmm, sorry.  I need to step off my soapbox now.  Yes, I know it is your body and I understand that, but at the same time you matter to other people.  So…yeah.

Where was I?  Yeah, tomorrow I go back to the doctor to measure the follicles.  It seems that my right ovary wants to produce the eggs while my left just wants to hang out.  This is a problem.  Why?  Because my right ovary is behind an organ.  A kidney maybe?  I don’t know.  Maybe the kidney will shift and they can retrieve the eggs in the right ovary.  Or maybe losing ten pounds will grant the doctor easier access.  I don’t know.  All I know is, that I feel bloated.

Constantly.

I am uncomfortable and I’m not entirely sure if this is because of the hormones coursing through me or the stress of my mom…or really both things.  I’m going to go with both things.  Because yeah, that’s awesome, right?

Just remember, I am injecting, INJECTING, INJECTING myself three times a day with medication.

Once in the morning with a Gonal F pen, and then twice in the afternoon with Lupron and Menopur.  Go ahead, click over and see what’s going on.  I can wait.

Done?  Yeah, that’s me injecting myself three times a day.  Needles don’t bother me anymore.  Well, that’s not true.  Those intramuscular needles are fucking huge, but they do need to go into the muscle so longer needle.  The subcutaneous needle only needs to go into the fat (insert snarky comment here) and, therefore, is shorter.

Oh, don’t get me wrong.  They still hurt, well, pinch, except for that damn Menopur. I don’t know what’s up with it.  Get it together, Menopur!  Gonal and Lupron are laughing at you, okay?

What was I saying?

Fuck if I know anymore.

Writing

No, dear god, I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year.  Too much shit going on and I can barely keep it together.  I’ll only do NaBloPoMo, because fuck, I need to get back to writing…yes, yes, yes, the conventional wisdom is that I set a writing schedule for myself.

Well, you know what?

Fuck rules.

Fuck them hard.

I’ll write every day if I want to…or not at all.

As it happens, I like writing every day and do it anyway.  I must as well, put up something on the blog while I’m catching up with the writing prompts and doing freelance work on the side.

Speaking of freelance work, I’ve got a grand total of four articles that bears my byline…like my real name byline and not a nom du plume.

Okay, that’s it.  I’m out.

Tomorrow is Election Day.  If you’re in the US, go fucking vote.  It’s important.

Seriously.

For those of you not in the US, have a great Tuesday.

Hopefully, better than mine.

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6 thoughts on “Untitled #27

  1. Cancer definitely sucks. I completely agree with you there. My mom and grandpa were diagnosed last year (different regions, different causes) and now that I’m tearfully stepping into my thirties it’s on my mind too. Once I get back to Canada and have health insurance again, I’ll be going to the doctor for an exam (they don’t do full yearly check-ups anymore!) Last time I went to the doctor with a capital C Concern about some large moles hanging out, as they do, the doctor looked at them and was like, “I don’t know, they look fine to me.” What do you mean, you don’t know?! You’re the doctor, you should know these things better than me. I need a new doctor, I think.

    Liked by 1 person

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